


In between two places

by creativwritingmind



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Dark, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Escape, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other, Rape/Non-con Elements, Suicide, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 16:44:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20549408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creativwritingmind/pseuds/creativwritingmind
Summary: My very own story of DEMA. Devour with care.





	1. Just like yesterday

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly haven no idea where I'm going with this. My stories are never planned. They write themselves.

There's no difference in between sleeping and being awake when you never dream. It's not even a smooth change in perception, it's more like jolting out of the darkness, into the grey, the croak of the vulture outside like a signal, an unspoken alarm clock that tells me it's time to get up, to obey. I hate the mornings, just like I hate the days and evenings. My only friend is the night, the dark void I throw myself into, hoping to black out and forget, or maybe remember. Sighing I sit up, a clammy coldness creeping through my veins. It's fall, and maybe we'll get snow soon already. Weather in DEMA has it's own rules, and the sun has no place on it's skies anymore. Sometimes I wish there was more darkness. More of the black instead the grey, and the neon glow of the lights in the middle of my room, the lights that they put there to remind us. I tried to break them once, but all i did was cutting myself on the shards, not deep enough to die, not shallow enough to hide it, and i have gotten my punishment for that. 

Dragging my weary body over the cold floor I enter the small bathroom on the other side of what they call my home. I have stopped to bother with my reflection in the mirror a long time ago, it's not like it would be important. Like ME would be important. We're all just small cogs in their plan, and after years of getting this hammered into my brain and branded into my skin I finally have accepted to believe it. The same grey clothes as yesterday greet me, they hadn't been greasy enough for them to take them away yet and give me another set, but knowing todays tasks I'm sure they will once they are done. They don't like me being too dirty, although they like to keep me stained. It's the same routine, over and over, every day, sliding the itchy stiff fabric on, brushing my long, knotted hair as good as I can. There are no scissors here, no knifes to take them off, and they wouldn't accept it anyway. 

Maybe I should eat, bolt down the little they give me to take to this place they call my home, to the walls they confine, but I would throw it up again anyway. It's not like they wouldn't have their ways to keep me alive without me having to eat activily. There's nothing that I need to take with me, there's no such things as belongings in here, as there's no lock on my door either. Noone locks a door in DEMA. It would be to no avail. 

Making my way down the stairs I ignore the flow of other people, spilling out of their cells, all of them as grey and tired, worn out as me. Noone talks, noone looks around anymore. The floor has became our eyes companion. As I enter the street there's a stench reaching my nose, brought by a slight movement of wings, when the vultures beside the door take off, leave their latest prey, or what is left of it, lying in the gutter. If rain won't wash away the blood, then the snow will get colour this year, and I can't even say I'm mad about it. All would be better then this pale environment without life. 

The stream of people devides when I reach the inner district, the towers of silence, surrounded by clouds that hide their very top. It's not by age how they seperate us, it's by abilities, and I've stopped to wonder why some of the humans in my line are so young, but never any old. It's no question of age. It's a question of a bodys resistance. I get in line, keeping my eyes down, down, down, desperatly trying to avoid to see a desperate, pleading glance from the others, or one of pitty from those who think they've happened to have a better task then me. They are wrong anyway. We're all fucked, in one way or the other. 

Today the lind stops though, before I can reach the entrance, and there are voices, the ones of the supervisors, cutting through the silence of the masses. I wish my curiosity wouldn't get the best of me still, I wish it would have died with my soul, but i can't bring myself to not watch. There's a kid with them, right before the doors, and I blink as the glowing neon washes over her. Appearently they think she's wrong here, she's send to the other line, the one that's waiting for the buses to take them out to the mine, we're they'll descent towards the earths middle, to singe their hands on the neon they are assigned to dismantle and bring it towards the surface, so they can clean us all with it, as they say. There's no sympathy in my heart as I see her crying, tears don't mean anything here. She's too young to get that yet, but she will learn, like all of us did. Waiting for my line to go on, to step into the tower, I still watch her, out of an emotion, that i can't really file. She get's in the lane, her arms slung around her thin body, the grey clothes way too big for her small frame, her boney shoulders shaking. I don't expect someone to react to her, and maybe that's why it throws me off so much, as the guy before her turns, kneels down and offers her a hug. What an idiot. He's playing not only with his, but with her life too, and that's a very selfish thing to do. 

I've seen him around a few times, and I've always wondered why they didn't choose him to be what I am, as pretty as he is with his fluffy hair and those deep eyes, long lashes grazing his skin. Maybe i should know his name by heart, it's what they want from us, knowing each others terms, but i have to read it off the label on his chest. Tyler. One of the lesser letters in the alphabet. One of the ones they give to those who tried to escape. There's no time to wallow into this moment further, as the supervisors tell me to go on, to not stop the flow of the line. It doesn't matter anyway. It's not like he would be important. None of us are. 

Taking the few steps up to the entrance I lift my arms to the side to let them scan me, for hidden weapons, and for lost motivation. The latter is what they always find, and what they cure by a flash of neon lights, sending a wave of heat through my body. I hate this chemical arousal, more then I hate them, but at the same time I know it's a mercy. It makes my task easier, for them and for me, and so I don't care if my pants get soaked. I will not wear them for long in here, and they'll be dried by the time they let me leave. Closing my eyes for a moment I step through the entrance, the sign above it craved into my brain the first time I saw it at all. It's a sentence, a symbol all of us carry inside, a false promise of a life that doesn't exist. Glowing like everything they read down it attracts the vultures, they pearch above it, setting their cold eyes on us, probably meassuring who of us is next to feed on. Although I try to forget the words they recall themselves when I pass it. 

Welcome to DEMA.


	2. Like spirits in the dark

The ride was bumpy, like it always was, and Tyler tried to stay stable in his seat, to not fall to the side and smash the girl beside him. He wasn't big in his statue, still he was enough to hurt her, and doing that was the least he wanted. They all had been hurt enough in the past. Feeling the supervisors eyes on him the young man choose to act tame, folded his hands in his lap and lowered his gaze on them, giving off the impression of being as lifeless as the others around him, until the mans interest shifted to someone else. There had been a lot of black points on his record lately, and right now he didn't intend to add another one. Too harsh the punishment had been last time, and Tyler wasn't sure if he could stand another of these. Biting his lip he tried to push away the sound of sobbing that came from the kid beside him. She was lucky, she just didn't realize that yet. They had sorted her out of the servants line, had put her into the one of the labourers. The young man assumed that she didn't knew how much of a lucky thing that was for her, the kids never really did until they reached a certain age that allowed them to understand what was going on inside of these towers, all day, on repeat. 

Still Tyler couldn't get a hold of the running beat his heart had choose to take, and he hated himself for it. It was hard to kill feelings. It was even harder to have them still. Slow, hiding his movements as best as he could, he let one of his hands slip down his thigh, to the side, crawl over the cold plastic of the seat, until it reached the warmth of her little fingers, clapsed into the fabric of her pants. "Stay still!" he hissed, when the girls head shot up towards him, as he slipped his digits into hers, trying to give her the little security he could provide, and she did as he said, her sobs getting smaller, the preassure she put on his hands more. It broke his heart to know that she thought he'd be a friend, someone who'd protect and help her. Tyler knew he could never be. They all were left to fend for themselves, and everytime he tried to pick up the fight for others, all he had done was bringing more despair over them. 

Noone stood up when they finally reached their destination, they all knew better then to bring chaos to the order, and waited for their names to be called. Scanning his list bored the supervisior called out for him, then frowned, as his gaze fell on the girl. "You there. Too." he snapped, the girl flinching under his words like under a hit. She seemed to get that they couldn't stay connected, so she let go of Tylers hand, followed him through the aisle like a kicked puppy, always afraid of getting another blow. Slight rain greeted them on the outside, made both of them shiver, still Tyler didn't hurry all too much to get inside of the mine. It was airless down there, breathing even harder then it was when they were in the city, and he was sure sooner or later he would die on it, when his lungs were filled to the brink with the fire of the neon dust. As usual he contained his tools from the supervisor, gestured the kid to do so too, before he let her into the dim half light of the mine, towards the elevator, feeling that a thousand questions she had followed him around. At least the girl had learned not to speak if not necessary, and he was thankfull for it, it would spent them a lot of trouble. 

Compressed into the small cabin like animals into a cage about twenty of them stood in there then, when the metal doors closed and the elevator started to decend, downwards to the mines corridors, where they would start their chores of the day. Not a single sound was to be heared, not even the sound of breathing, they all stayed low as much as they could. When the cabin finally stopped, the doors sprang open, they spilled out of it like water, everyone following their beknownst path, and Tyler adopted his, into the further corner of the mine. She was still behind him, following him with a trust that was a mistake, but he didn't had the energy to correct her at all. Reaching the end of the corridor he was asinged to, the young man layed his tools to the floor, sorted them by use, watched the girl do the same and then expecantly gaze at him, waiting for an instruction, for anything that would give her direction about this. Shaking his head slightly Tyler took up the pick and started to drive it into the cold wall, small stones spilling down to the floor, slowly giving way to the neons strand, that he would have to work on with a more stable tool of his. There weren't any gloves to use for them, so he probably would burn his hands again, but Tyler had stopped to feel the pain a long time ago. He was reminded of it though, when the first cry of hurt fell from the girls lips and he knew she had touched the neon. Working on he didn't sooth her. She had to learn to get hard anyway.


	3. Physically, I'm a whore

They changed the sheets, and I know why. The last servant in here has died, the only cause important enough to spent ressources on a new bedding. They removed the old mirror too, I guess the cracks had been too many, and they liked to look at themselves too much to let their picture be distorted. Slipping out of my clothes I fold them neatly, like I'm supposed to do, place them aside on a rack, and get down to my position. On my knees, hands folded behind my back, my head tilted to the floor. It doesn't take long for one of them to enter, and with a sting in my heart I realize it's Nico this time. They take their turns on us, for better chance of fertility, as it has gotten less and less by year. DEMA doesn't grow so fast anymore, and it worries them, I know, because loosing us would mean loosing their kingdom to them. 

Waiting for instructions I breath low, feeling how he scans me, up and down my body with his greedy eyes. They never take their robes off, never show us their body more then necessary, and in a strange way I'm glad about it. It's easier this way, not seeing the folds, the eczemas their skin is littered with. It's enough to feel their calloused hands. Nico doesn't seem to be in a rush today though, he lingers where he stands, apperantly planning out what he wants to do to me this time. He's one of them that I had lesser encounters with, probably because he's the most potent one, saving himself for those who gave promise of a new life to create. With a voice more then a growl he chooses to give me an order then, and i obey, knowing it's not worth to fight. "Part your legs. Let me see." he rambles, low and silent, no shouting needed inside of this walls. Spreading my legs apart I sigh on the wetness dripping from my core, the neon has done it's work and made me ready, ready for him to use. Humming approvingly he steps closer now, a simple "Up." falling from his lips and my muscles react in automatism, pull me into a standing position, hands still on my back, my stance parted, the slick wetness now running down my thighs. I wish his hand was cold when he touches me there, when he let's his fingers glide through my folds one by one, before entering two of them inside of me, giving a few, testing motions before removing them, lifting them to his face and sniffing at them through the fabric of his mask. 

"It's the right time." Nico informs me, not that I would care about that. I know they keep track of our circles closely to amp up the chances to get us inseminated, but i have no interest in when I'm ready for it or not. It doesn't matter anyway, they try every time, they just try with more determination when they know our body is ready to receive. The robes rustle is harsh in the silence, although it's only parted on the front, enough to reveal his flesh, throbbing and half-hard already. While the others rely more on words Nico is the one to strip us of all our dignity by just using us mechanicly, like the machines he seems to see us. My hand is placed on his member, and I try not to gag, not to give him an impression of how much I'm disgusted by this. He'd like it too much. It's slow strokes I choose first, knowing he likes to drag this out as much as possible, and would get angry if I go too fast right away. My focus stays on my fingers, rubbing around his head, while he lifts his, starting to thumb my breast, grunt a bit on the reaction of my nipple, getting hard and attending as he squeezes it inbetween his rough pads. His breathing doesn't pick up though, it will later, when he's really on me, but they are all controlled, aware of their power. 

We go on like this for a while, until he's pleased with his hardness, and pushes me back, so I stumble, the back of my knees hitting the bed. In a slight moment of rebellion I stand still there, not laying down, so he gives me another push, not hard, but hard enough to let my back sink on the matress. I don't dare to close my legs, the bruises of the last time I did haven't healed yet, so I lay there, splashed out before his eyes, mine closed, awaiting his body on mine. Nico doesn't have it though. "Look at me." he growls, and I do so, fighting back the tears that dwell up, so he will not get any more angry then he is already. Kneeling on the bed slowly he parts his robe a bit more, revealing his hips, the sharp bones bulging his skin, his member aimed at me like a dart. All I want now is for him to finally do me, to finally spill all he has into me, so I am done, so I can go home and let his seed dry on my skin, but the bishop has other ideas this time. Lowering his head between my legs I realize him lifting his mask a bit, then pushing down his hood, the thin, grey hair not enough to cover his skalp. Nausea washes over me when his tongue slides through my folds, into my entrance, mimicing the movements his member will do later. I don't get why he does this, or maybe I do. It's not necessary for the fertilation, but for his personal joy. And that is something they are very keen of. My mind isn't washed enough yet, I realize, as he goes on to suck my bundle of nervs, or I would just accept his rank as superior, as saver of our race. 

The neon still flows through my veins and makes me moan, a sound he rewards with a cruel smile against my thigh as he bites down there. Of course Nico dosn't expect me to really enjoy this, but he likes the impression of it I guess. Slowly marking up my body now, creeping higher, taking his time to suck my breasts too, he finally comes to lay on me, his full weight pinning me down, ristricting my breath to a minimum. I can't decide what's worse, his tongue slipping into my mouth or his member inching it's way incide of me, but i know I have to respond, have to kiss him back, while he picks up an agonizing slow, but strong pace, sending my body up towards the headboard of the bed with every hard thrust. His breaths get quicker now, the only thing giving away he's still human, his hands gripping my waist to pull me into him, harder, more, deeper. I feel him pulsing inside of me, hardening more and more, and I know it can't be long. 

They use the neon too. That's why his peaks are so lasting, that's why he spills enough to not only fill me up, but wetten the sheets under me, and half of my body with his seed of life. Staying inside me for several minutes, like their protocol says, like it's expected to help with getting me pregnant, Nico sucks a few more bruises in the skin of my neck. They won't be gone before another bishop will add new ones. The only chance to get out of this would be to finally donate them a life, growing inside me, but for some reasons it still hasn't happen in over a year. I don't even know why they still try, others like me were designed to the workers a lot quicker, but I seem to have something special, something they search for. 

When he's finally done he gets off of me, admiring his work, a slight grin on his lips as he adjusts his robe again, and takes seat in the chair beside the bed. I know the process by now. I know I'm expected to insert all I can collect with my fingers into myself, to get me off at least four times before he will let me go. There'll be no way to clean myself of his stench after. This is what their cleansing is.


	4. Deciding where to fight

Time had no significance down there in the dark. Tyler recognized that the girl had stopped fighting her purpose pretty quick, and worked as hard as he did beside him. Maybe she tried to impress in, in a false hope of gaining his trust. There was a pretty good pile of neon beside them by now, and he knew the supervisor would be pleased, but that it doesn't meant they could take a break just because they'd deliver more then the others did that day. There was never something like a reward, more an upstepped expectation for them to get as much as they had now the following day. Carefully stretching his neck Tyler groaned on the pain there, knowing another sleepless night was waiting for him. The past week he hadn't been able to ly down even, too much his strained muscles had protested, so he had tried to doze in in a seat, and it hadn't worked out way too well. Pushing a few strands of sweaty fluff beside he wanted to pick up the work again, when the signal for the end of the day rang through the mines corridors. Confused the young man looked around, saw others spilling out of their designed places, towards the elevator again. He seemed to have lost a few hours again, a thing that happened a lot lately, and he wasn't sure if it was something to complain about. Maybe he'd loose his mind soon, a welcomed hope in this horror his life was since he could think. 

Collecting their tools the girl and him made their way back to the surface, silent just like they had came down there, and filed in their amount of neon before they left for the bus. She sticked close to him, and grabbed his hand once they were seated and the supervisor didn't look their way. Not wanting to get soft Tyler refused to like the touch, the little sign of humaneness it brought. The city was full of their people when they arrived, all of them returning to their cells, that the bishops ironically called homes. They had a few free hours until the night call would be announced throughout the speakers that littered all over the place. Not that any of them would use those times for something like joy. Tyler knew a few people gathered in the chapel in the evenings, to listen to the bishops words and watch them form the neon, but the most of them stayed inside their rooms, crying, sleeping of exhaustion or hurting themselves. There was no such thing as happiness here, and if he was honest he wasn't even sure if happiness and joy weren't just tales the old told off. The people of age had been in the city before the bishops had taken it over, and sometimes they spoke of the bright days, when they all had been free, when there had been laughter and music. Music. Tyler could only imagine that one. There was a distant memory of an old man that had showed him an instrument once, he had called it a guitar, and he could remember how much his soul fed on the beautiful sounds it did, but he could also remember the ugly sounds it made as it was smashed against the old mans head on the main square, over and over and over again, until he fell down as a bloody mass of dead flesh. The bishops had made them all watch and stay there until the vultures had eaten out the bodys eyes and insides. 

Stepping off the bus Tyler lost no time to head towards his block, getting back to the little secret he had, the only little thing that kept him alive in here. Annoyence took over his features when he realized that the girl followed him. "Go home." he snapped, more rude then he wanted to, but it didn't stop her from take another step in his direction. "Seriously, go home!" Tyler tried another time, trying to not let her sad expression get to him. "I have none." she whispered and started to cry, and as much as the young man dammed himself for it he just couldn't ignore her and walk on. Sending a quick glance around them, making sure noone was aware of them too much, he kneeled down beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Hey...come on, stop crying ok? What do you mean, you have no home? We all have a place we're sent to when the work is over." Sniffing she whiped her eyes and met his, both of them brown and full of torment. "They kicked me out." she gave, hiccuping in between the words. "They said I'll be stained when I come back, and they don't want to have that under their roof." Realizing the whole cruelty Tyler withstood to embrace her then. It was a common thing to happen in DEMA, parents abandoning their childs once they were filed as servants, knowing they would contribute to the bishops power by being their source of life. 

There was a decission to make, and Tyler knew it was a bad one, no matter which option he choose. It was never good to get involved with the others problems, not here, not in this city. Still he had enough of a heart left to not be able to just walk away. Standing up he sighed, his head hanging low. "Follow me." he ordered her, and hurried to get towards his block. The young man knew he couldn't keep the girl with him in his cell, people would talk and finally tell it to the bishops, and they would punish him as they'd think he was about to use the girl for his own personal joy, an awefull crime for anyone beside of the bishops themselves. But he knew there was a woman in the cell beside his, that was a servant for sure. He had seen her in the line a few times, and also had smelled the bishops on her, when he met her in the hallway. Maybe she could take the girl in, if just for one night. Staying outside was too dangerous, the nighttime was when the banditos came, the demons of trench, that infiltrated the city and took it's inhabitats one by one, to an unknown place they never came back from. Still, smart people stayed away from the servants, as much as they could. But, if he was really honest with himself, Tyler had never considered himself as smart.


End file.
